When at work my father was almost always alone, so that, with rare exceptions, save as we could see the effect of the adventures of his characters upon him in his daily moods, we knew but little of his manner of work. Absolute quiet under these circumstances was essential, the slightest sound making an interruption fatal to the success of his labors1, although, oddly enough, in his leisure hours the bustle3 and noise of a great city seemed necessary to him. He writes, after an enforced idleness of two years, spent in a quiet place; “The difficulty of going at what I call a rapid pace is p. 47prodigious; indeed, it is almost an impossibility. I suppose this is partly the effect of two years’ ease, and partly the absence of streets, and numbers of figures. I cannot express how much I want these. It seems as if they supplied something to my brain which, when busy, it cannot bear to lose. For a week or fortnight I can write prodigiously4 in a retired5 place, a day in London setting and starting me up again. But the toil6 and labor2 of writing day after day without that magic lantern is immense!”
As I have said, he was usually alone when at work, though there were, of course, some occasional exceptions, and I myself constituted such an exception. During our life at Tavistock House, I had a long and serious illness, with an almost equally long convalescence7. During the latter, my father suggested that I should be carried every day into his study to remain with him, and, although I was fearful of disturbing him, he assured me that he desired to have me p. 48with him. On one of these mornings, I was lying on the sofa endeavouring to keep perfectly8 quiet, while my father wrote busily and rapidly at his desk, when he suddenly jumped from his chair and rushed to a mirror which hung near, and in which I could see the reflection of some extraordinary facial contortions9 which he was making. He returned rapidly to his desk, wrote furiously for a few moments, and then went again to the mirror. The facial pantomime was resumed, and then turning toward, but evidently not seeing, me, he began talking rapidly in a low voice. Ceasing this soon, however, he returned once more to his desk, where he remained silently writing until luncheon10 time. It was a most curious experience for me, and one of which, I did not until later years, fully11 appreciate the purport12. Then I knew that with his natural intensity13 he had thrown himself completely into the character that he was creating, and that for the time being he had not only lost p. 49sight of his surroundings, but had actually become in action, as in imagination, the creature of his pen.
His “studies” were always cheery, pleasant rooms, and always, like himself, the personification of neatness and tidiness. On the shelf of his writing table were many dainty and useful ornaments14, gifts from his friends or members of his family, and always, a vase of bright and fresh flowers. The first study that I remember is the one in our Devonshire Terrace home, a pretty room, with steps leading directly into the garden from it, and with an extra baize door to keep out all sounds and noise. The study at Tavistock House was more elaborate; a fine large room, opening into the drawing-room by means of sliding doors. When the rooms were thrown together they gave my father a promenade15 of considerable length for the constant indoor walking which formed a favorite recreation for him after a hard day’s writing.
p. 50At “Gad’s Hill” he first made a study from one of the large spare sleeping rooms of the house, as the windows there overlooked a beautiful and favorite view of his. His writing table was always placed near a window looking out into the open world which he loved so keenly. Afterwards he occupied for years a smaller room overlooking the back garden and a pretty meadow, but this he eventually turned into a miniature billiard room, and then established himself, finally, in the room on the right side of the entrance hall facing the front garden. It is this room which Mr. Luke Fildes, the great artist and our own esteemed16 friend, made famous in his picture “The Empty Chair,” which he sketched17 for “The Graphic” after my father’s death. The writing table, the ornaments, the huge waste paper basket, which “the master” had made for his own use, are all there, and, alas18, the empty chair!
That he was always in earnest, that he p. 51lived with his creations, that their joys and sorrows were his joys and sorrows, that at times his anguish19, both of body and spirit, was poignant20 and heart-breaking, I know. His interest in and love for his characters were intense as his nature, and is shown nowhere more strongly than in his sufferings during his portrayal22 of the short life of “Little Nell,” like a father he mourned for his little girl—the child of his brain—and he writes: “I am, for the time, nearly dead with work and grief for the loss of my child.” Again he writes of her: “You can’t imagine (gravely I write and speak) how exhausted23 I am to-day with yesterday’s labors. I went to bed last night utterly24 dispirited and done up. All night I have been pursued by the child; and this morning I am unrefreshed and miserable25. I do not know what to do with myself.”
His love and care for this little one are p. 52shown most pathetically in the suggestions which he gave to Mr. George Cattermole for his illustrations of the “Old Curiosity Shop.” “Kit26, the single gentleman, and Mr. Garland go down to the place where the child is and arrive there at night. There has been a fall of snow. Kit, leaving them behind, runs to the old house, and with a lantern in one hand, and the bird in its cage in the other, stops for a moment at a little distance, with a natural hesitation27, before he goes up to make his presence known. In a window—supposed to be that of the child’s little room—a light is burning, and in that room the child (unknown, of course, to her visitors, who are full of hope), lies dead.”
Again: “The child lying dead in the little sleeping room, behind the open screen. It is winter time, so there are no flowers, but upon her breast and pillow there may be strips of holly28 and berries and such green things. A window, overgrown with ivy29. The little boy who had that talk with her p. 53about the angels may be by the bedside, if you like it so; but I think it will be quieter and more peaceful if she is quite alone. I want the scene to express the most beautiful repose30 and tranquillity31, and to have something of a happy look, if death can do this.”
Another: “The child has been buried within the church, and the old man, who cannot be made to understand that she is dead repairs to the grave and sits there all day long, waiting for her arrival to begin another journey. His staff and knapsack, her little bonnet33 and basket, lie beside him. ‘She’ll come to-morrow,’ he says, when it gets dark, and then goes sorrowfully home. I think an hour glass running out would keep up the notion; perhaps her little things upon his knee or in his hand. I am breaking my heart over this story, and cannot bear to finish it.”
In acknowledging the receipt of a letter concerning this book from Mr. John Tomlin, an American, he wrote: “I thank you p. 54cordially and heartily34 for your letter, and for its kind and courteous35 terms. To think that I have awakened36 among the vast solitudes37 in which you dwell a fellow feeling and sympathy with the creatures of many thoughtful hours, is the source of the purest delight and pride to me; and believe me that your expressions of affectionate remembrance and approval, sounding from the green forests of the Mississippi, sink deeper into my heart and gratify it more than all the honorary distinctions that all the courts of Europe could confer. It is such things as these that make one hope one does not live in vain, and that are the highest rewards of an author’s life.”
His genius for character sketching38 needs no proof—his characters live to vouch39 for themselves, for their reality. It is ever amazing to me that the hand which drew the pathetic and beautiful creations, the kindly40 humored men, the lovely women, the unfortunate little ones, could portray21 also p. 55with such marvellous accuracy the villainy and craftiness41 of such characters as Bumble, Bill Sykes, Pecksniff, Uriah Heep and Squeers. Undoubtedly42 from his earliest childhood he had possessed43 the quick perception, the instinct, which could read in people’s characters their tendencies toward good and evil, and throughout his life he valued this ability above literary skill and finish. Mr. Forster makes a point of this in his biography, speaking of the noticeable traits in him: “What I had most, indeed, to notice in him at the very outset of his career, was his indifference44 to any praise of his performances on their merely literary merit, compared with the higher recognition of them as bits of actual life, with the meaning and purpose on their part, and the responsibility on his, of realities rather than creatures of fancy.”
But he was always pleased with praise, and always modest and grateful in returning it. “How can I thank you?” he writes to p. 56a friend who was expressing his pleasure at “Oliver Twist.” “Can I do better than by saying that the sense of poor Oliver’s reality, which I know you have had from the first, has been the highest of all praise to me? None that has been lavished45 upon me have I felt half so much as that appreciation46 of my intent and meaning. Your notices make me very grateful, but very proud, so have a care.”
The impressions which were later converted into motives47 and plots for his stories he imbibed48 often in his earliest childhood. The crusade against the Yorkshire schools which is waged in “Nicholas Nickleby,” is the working out of some of these childish impressions. He writes himself of them: “I cannot call to mind how I came to hear about Yorkshire schools, when I was not a very robust49 child, sitting in by-places near Rochester Castle with a head full of Partridge, Strap50, Tom Pipes and Sancho Panza, but I know my first impressions of p. 57the schools were picked up at this time.” We can imagine how deeply the wrongs must have sunk into the sensitive heart of the child, rankling51 there through many years, to bear fruit in the scourging52 of them and their abuses from the land. While he was at work upon “Nicholas Nickleby,” he sent one of his characteristic letters in reply to a little boy—Master Hasting Hughes—who wrote to ask him to make some changes in the story. As some of you may not have read this letter, and as it is so extremely amusing, I shall quote part of it:
“Doughty Street, London.
“December 12th, 1838.
“Respected Sir: I have given Squeers one cut on the neck, and two on the head, at which he appeared much surprised, and began to cry, which, being a cowardly thing, is just what I should have expected from him—wouldn’t you?
“I have carefully done what you told me in your letter about the lamb and the two p. 58‘sheeps’ for the little boys. They have also had some good ale and porter and some wine. I am sorry you did not say what wine you would like them to have. I gave them some sherry, which they liked very much, except one boy who was a little sick and choked a good deal. He was rather greedy, and that’s the truth, and I believe it went the wrong way, which I say served him right, and I hope you will say so too. Nick has had his roast lamb, as you said he was to, but he could not eat it all, and says if you do not mind his doing so he should like to have the rest hashed to-morrow with some greens, which he is very fond of, and so am I. He said he did not like to have his porter hot, for he thought it spoilt the flavour, so I let him have it cold. You should have seen him drink it. I thought he never would have left off. I also gave him three pounds in money, all in sixpences to make it seem more, and he said directly that he should give more than half to his p. 59mamma and sister, and divide the rest with poor Smike. And I say he is a good fellow for saying so; and if anybody says he isn’t, I am ready to fight him whenever they like—there!
“Fanny Squeers shall be attended to, depend upon it. Your drawing of her is very like, except that I do not think the hair is quite curly enough. The nose is particularly like hers, and so are the legs. She is a nasty, disagreeable thing, and I know it will make her very cross when she sees it, and what I say is that I hope it may. You will say the same, I know—at least I think you will.”
The amount of work which he could accomplish varied53 greatly at certain times, though in its entirety it was so immense. When he became the man of letters, and ceased the irregular, unmethodical life of the reporter, his mornings were invariably spent at his desk. The time between breakfast and luncheon, with an occasional p. 60extension of a couple of hours into the afternoon, were given over to his creations. The exceptions were when he was taking a holiday or resting, though even when ostensibly employed in the latter, cessation from story writing meant the answering of letters and the closer attention to his business matters, so that but little of real rest ever came into his later life.
While in Italy he gave a fragmentary diary of his daily life in a letter to a friend, and the routine was there very much what it was at home. “I am in a regular ferocious54 excitement with the Chimes; get up at seven; have a cold bath before breakfast; and blaze away, wrathful and red-hot, until three o’clock or so, when I usually knock off (unless it rains) for the day. I am fierce to finish in a spirit bearing some affinity55 to that of truth and mercy, and to shame the cruel and the wicked, but it is hard work.” His entire discomfort56 under sound interruptions is also shown in the p. 61above, in his reference to the Chimes, and the effect which they had upon him.
Despite his regularity57 of working hours, as I have said, the amount of work which my father accomplished58 varied greatly. His manuscripts were usually written upon white “slips,” though sometimes upon blue paper, and there were many mornings when it would be impossible for him to fill one of these. He writes on one occasion: “I am sitting at home, patiently waiting for Oliver Twist, who has not yet arrived.” And, indeed, “Oliver” gave him considerable trouble, in the course of his adventures, by his disinclination to be put upon paper easily. This slowness in writing marked more prominently the earlier period of my father’s literary career, though these “blank days,” when his brain refused to work, were of occasional occurrence to the end. He was very critical of his own labors, and would bring nothing but the best of his brain to the art which he so dearly loved—p. 62his venerated59 mistress. But, on the other hand, the amount of work which he would accomplish at other times was almost incredible. During a long sojourn60 at Lausanne he writes: “I have not been idle since I have been here. I had a good deal to write for Lord John about the ragged61 schools; so I set to work and did that. A good deal to Miss Coutts, in reference to her charitable projects; so I set to work and did that. Half of the children’s New Testament62 to write, or pretty nearly. I set to work and did that. Next, I cleared off the greater part of such correspondence as I had rashly pledged myself to, and then—began Dombey!”
I know of only one occasion on which he employed an amanuensis, and my aunt is my authority for the following, concerning this one time: “The book which your father dictated64 to me was ‘The Child’s History of England.’ The reason for my being used in this capacity of secretary was that p. 63‘Bleak House’ was being written at the same time, and your father would dictate63 to me while walking about the room, as a relief after his long, sedentary imprisonment65. The history was being written for ‘Household Words,’ and ‘Bleak House’ also as a serial66, so he had both weekly and monthly work on hand at the same time.” The history was dedicated67: “To my own dear children, whom I hope it will help, by-and-by, to read with interest larger and better books upon the same subject.”
My father wrote always with a quill32 pen and blue ink, and never, I think, used a lead pencil. His handwriting was considered extremely difficult to read by many people, but I never found it so. In his manuscripts there were so many erasures, and such frequent interlineations that a special staff of compositors was used for his work, but this was not on account of any illegibility68 in his handwriting. The manuscripts are most of them, exhibited at p. 64the South Kensington Museum in “the Forster Collection,” and they all show I think, the extreme care and fastidiousness of the writer, and his ever-constant desire to improve upon and simplify his original sentence. His objection to the use of a lead pencil was so great that even his personal memoranda69, such as his lists of guests for dinner parties, the arrangement of tables and menus, were always written in ink. For his personal correspondence he used blue note paper, and signed his name in the left-hand corner of the envelope. After a morning’s close work he was sometimes quite pre-occupied when he came into luncheon. Often, when we were only our home party at “Gad’s Hill,” he would come in, take something to eat in a mechanical way—he never ate but a small luncheon—and would return to his study to finish the work he had left, scarcely having spoken a word in all this time. Again, he would come in, having finished his work, p. 65but looking very tired and worn. Our talking at these times did not seem to disturb him, though any sudden sound, as the dropping of a spoon, or the clinking of a glass, would send a spasm70 of pain across his face.
The sudden, almost instantaneous, popularity of “Pickwick” was known to the world long before it was realized by its anxious young author. All the business transactions concerning its publication were modest to a degree, and the preparations for such a success as came to it were none. As to its popularity, Mr. Forster writes: “Judges on the bench, and boys in the streets, gravity and folly71, the young and the old, those who were entering life, and those who were quitting it, alike found it irresistible72.” Carlyle wrote: “An archdeacon repeated to me, with his own venerable lips, the other evening, a strange, profane73 story of a solemn clergyman who had been summoned to administer consolation74 p. 66to a very ill man. As he left the room he heard the sick man ejaculate: “Well thank God, Pickwick will be out in ten days, anyway!” No young author ever sprang into more sudden and brilliant fame than “Boz,” and none could have remained more thoroughly75 unspoiled, or so devoid76 of egotism under success. His own opinion of his fame, and his estimate of its value, may be quoted here: “To be numbered amongst the household gods of one’s distant countrymen, and associated with their homes and quiet pleasures; to be told that in each nook and corner of the world’s great mass there lives one well-wisher who holds communion with one in the spirit, is a worthy77 fame, indeed. That I may be happy enough to cheer some of your leisure hours for a long time to come, and to hold a place in your pleasant thoughts, is the earnest wish of ‘Boz.’”
On the Christmas Eve of 1863 my p. 67father was greatly shocked and distressed78 to hear of the sudden death of Mr. Thackeray. Our guests, naturally, were full of the sad news, and there was a gloom cast over everything. We all thought of the sorrow of his two daughters, who were so devoted79 to him, and whom his sudden taking away would leave so desolate80. In “The Cornhill Magazine” of the February following, my father wrote: “I saw Mr. Thackeray for the first time nearly twenty-eight years ago, when he proposed to become the illustrator of my earliest book. I saw him last shortly before Christmas, at the Athenæum Club, when he told me he had been in bed three days, and that he had it in his mind to try a new remedy, which he laughingly described. He was cheerful, and looked very bright. In the night of that day week he died. * * * * No one can be surer than I of the greatness and goodness of his heart. In no place should I take it upon myself p. 68at this time to discourse81 of his books, of his refined knowledge of character, of his subtle acquaintance with the weakness of human nature, of his delightful83 playfulness as an essayist, of his quaint82 and touching84 ballads85, of his mastery over the English language. But before me lies all that he had written of his latest story, and the pain I have felt in perusing86 it has not been deeper than the conviction that he was in the healthiest region of his powers when he worked on this last labor. The last words he corrected in print were ‘and my heart throbbed87 with an exquisite89 bliss90.’ God grant that on that Christmas Eve, when he laid his head back on his pillow and threw up his arms as he had been wont91 to do when very weary, some consciousness of duty done, and of Christian92 hope throughout life humbly93 cherished, may have caused his own heart so to throb88 when he passed away to his rest.”
《David Copperfield大卫·科波菲尔》
《匹克威克外传 Pickwick Papers》
《董贝父子 Dombey and Son》
《David Copperfield大卫·科波菲尔》
《匹克威克外传 Pickwick Papers》
《董贝父子 Dombey and Son》
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
labors
|
|
| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
labor
|
|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
bustle
|
|
| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
prodigiously
|
|
| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
convalescence
|
|
| n.病后康复期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
contortions
|
|
| n.扭歪，弯曲；扭曲，弄歪，歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
purport
|
|
| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
ornaments
|
|
| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
promenade
|
|
| n./v.散步 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
esteemed
|
|
| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
sketched
|
|
| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
poignant
|
|
| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
portray
|
|
| v.描写，描述；画(人物、景象等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
portrayal
|
|
| n.饰演；描画 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
kit
|
|
| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
holly
|
|
| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
ivy
|
|
| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
tranquillity
|
|
| n. 平静, 安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
quill
|
|
| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
bonnet
|
|
| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
solitudes
|
|
| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
sketching
|
|
| n.草图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
vouch
|
|
| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
craftiness
|
|
| 狡猾，狡诈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
lavished
|
|
| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
imbibed
|
|
| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
robust
|
|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
strap
|
|
| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
rankling
|
|
| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
scourging
|
|
| 鞭打( scourge的现在分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
ferocious
|
|
| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
affinity
|
|
| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
discomfort
|
|
| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
regularity
|
|
| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
venerated
|
|
| 敬重（某人或某事物），崇敬( venerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
sojourn
|
|
| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
testament
|
|
| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
dictate
|
|
| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
dictated
|
|
| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
imprisonment
|
|
| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
serial
|
|
| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
dedicated
|
|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
illegibility
|
|
| n.不清不楚，不可辨认，模糊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
memoranda
|
|
| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
spasm
|
|
| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
profane
|
|
| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
devoid
|
|
| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
ballads
|
|
| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
perusing
|
|
| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的现在分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
throbbed
|
|
| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
throb
|
|
| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |